My Big, Fat, Addams Wedding
by Child of a Broken Dawn
Summary: The Addams and Beineke families request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their children, Wednesday Friday Addams and Lucas Matthew Beineke, on October 31, 2011. If the bride doesn't snap and massacre her family first. Musical-based.
1. Prologue

A/N: Well, here we go again. All I'll say is that the plot bunnies made me do it. Yes, the title is a horrible ripoff of "My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding;" please forgive me. I still don't own anything.  
>-<p>

_Women in my family are largely free to do what they want. The general attitude seems to be, "Leave her alone and see what happens," and it works; we may turn out tragic or angelic or explosive, but none of us has yet been unexceptional._

_There's just one expectation in place for us. If an Addams woman marries, she's supposed to marry a man who fits in well with the family. That usually means someone like my father, who wears pinstriped tuxedos on a day-to-day basis, dances, and likes to wreck toy trains. Wed your perfect Count Dracula, keep him in line, produce neigh-demonic children, and go about your other business as usual- that's how it's supposed to go._

_I've never been one to buck family tradition. It's difficult to rebel when there's so little to rebel against, but that's not the only reason. I like darkness, death, and heavy artillery. Steak and potatoes make me vaguely queasy. My closet is a solid wall of black, with occasional touches of white, gray, or burgundy. And that's how it's always been._

_At age two, I shot my first pigeon. For my fifth birthday, I received and promptly guillotined a rather expensive doll. When I was twelve, my summer camp burned down under mysterious circumstances- meaning, the counselors were left too frightened to press charges._

_I was the perfect Addams child, and everyone expected me to grow into the perfect Addams woman. In most respects, I didn't disappoint._

_Until, that is, I got engaged._

_My fiancé wears oxford shirts and khakis. He couldn't tango until I taught him, he writes poetry, and he's studying to become a high school English teacher. And before we get married, I have to introduce him to the rest of my family._

_Heaven help us._


	2. In Which The Storm Gathers

It was Mother's idea, and from the start I knew it was a bad one.

The conversation began innocently enough, that Monday morning in the conservatory. Heavy, gray clouds loomed beyond the glass walls, promising a lovely storm, and her African Strangler had just put out a new shoot. She was in an almost nauseatingly good mood.

"Nothing adds character to a house like well-tended plants. Don't you agree, dear?" she asked, shuffling around to spoon raw hamburger into Cleopatra's mouth. I nodded, still focused on gathering leaves from the belladonna.

"And it's going to be such a glorious day!"

I made a noncommittal sound of agreement.

She turned and regarded me with her arms folded. "Wednesday, dear, is something wrong? You've hardly said a word all morning."

"And this worries you because…?"

"Well," she replied, "I'd have expected you to be a bit more excited."

There are a few key words that, coming from my mother, arouse suspicion. "Excited" is one of them.

I straightened up, dusted off my hands, and looked at her warily. "Why would I be excited?"

Her eyes widened. "You're getting married! Why wouldn't you be?"

_Oh. More wedding talk_, I thought, biting my lip. Lucas and I should have eloped when we had the chance.

I wandered down another row of plants. There had to be something here that required urgent work, work that would prohibit chatting. An errant bloom Mother'd missed when pruning, new seedlings in the hemlock's pot, a spontaneous begonia that would send her into hysterics- I wasn't picky. Just something to prevent endless talk of dresses, guests, music, food…

"Have you and Lucas set a date yet?"

Sighing, I gave up the futile search. "Yes, actually. Halloween. He insisted."

_That_ conversation had been interesting- and proved, once and for all, that I was marrying the right man.

"**My mother's talking about June 1****st****, but I didn't think that would go over well with you."**

**I rolled over, pulling the covers into a tighter cocoon. The last thing I wanted to do on these rare nights at my fiancé's apartment was discuss The Big Event.**

"**Is there some kind of traditional date for Addamses to get married?" **

"**October 31****st****," I mumbled. "We can probably compromise with something in November, or maybe February. It doesn't-"**

"**No." He cut me off. "Halloween it is."**

**That got my attention. I sat up and stared at him.**

"**You're going to tell your parents, who didn't even want us to get married in the first place, who are still half-terrified of my family, that we're getting married on Halloween."**

"**Why not?" he said, smiling in that "I'm-up-to-something" way. "I've never told anyone this, but when I was little, I secretly wanted a Halloween wedding."**

"**God, I love you."**

We'd rather quickly put paid to any further discussion after that. I stared into space for a moment, lost in memory until someone shaking my shoulder pulled me back to reality.

"Well?" Mother asked impatiently.

I shook myself. "Halloween. The wedding's set for Halloween."

She sighed. "Yes, you said that already. I asked if you'd started the guest list." A sly smile curled her reddened lips.

"Thinking of a certain young man, dear?"

I turned and started for the door. This was not a conversation I wanted to have with my mother- or anyone, for that matter. A few steps later, it became apparent that she did not intend to follow me, and my spirits lifted slightly. All that lay between me and the stairs to my mercifully private bedroom was the parlor, which appeared to be empty-

Until, just beyond the conservatory steps, I almost tripped over something soft and warm lying on the carpet.

Something that made an "oof!" sound when I bumped into it.

"What," I ground out, glaring down at my brother, "are you doing?"

He blinked up at me, wide-eyed. This, one might think, was the face of a happy, wholesome child interrupted at play by a growling dog. Innocence practically radiated from him in waves.

"Setting the carpet on fire," he chirped. "Is something wrong?"

Setting the carpet on fire, my foot. This had "eavesdropping" written all over it.

I grabbed the little twerp's shirt and hauled him to his feet. "If you're setting the carpet on fire, why don't I smell kerosene?" Without giving him a chance to answer, I continued, "What were you really doing?"

"Are you gonna interrogate me?" Joy glowed in his eyes. I realized my mistake and abruptly shoved him away.

"No. Have fun with the carpet."

That elicited the desired response. I could almost feel his disappointment as I walked toward the staircase, keeping my stride as casual as possible. Noncommittal was to Pugsley what furious was to most twelve-year-olds.

I love torturing my brother. Any moment now, he'd snap.

_Five, four, three, two…_

"Okay, okay, I was eavesdropping! I figured Mother would ask you about the wedding and I wanted to hear."

I blinked. That was new. Pugsley, who'd been so against my marriage, was curious about the big day?

"Why would you want to know about it?" I asked, slowly turning back to him.

He shrugged. "If I'm gonna have to get all dressed up in some stupid suit, I should have fair warning."

I raised one eyebrow and said, "Is that all?"

"Yeah! Geez, Wednesday, when did you get so paranoid?"

It was a trick I'd learned from crime dramas- stay quiet and let the suspect talk himself into a hole. I had been using it since I was ten, and he still hadn't picked up on it. After a few silent minutes, my patience was rewarded.

"But…um…you _are_ going to invite Marie, right? Marie Mountebank?"

"Pugsley, you do know Marie is our cousin." It wasn't a question. Mother and Father had sat him down for a Talk about his unfortunate crush last spring. I, in accordance with accepted Big Sister tradition, had mocked him mercilessly for about six months thereafter.

Unfortunately, Grandma had ruined our efforts by reminding him that Great-Uncle Absalom and Great-Aunt Catriona were first cousins. Thanks to her, thoughts of the little blonde coquette still clouded his mind.

"I know!" he said defensively. "It would just be nice to see her again. You know, talk and stuff."

_My mother wants to micro-manage my wedding and my brother is infatuated with our cousin. This day couldn't get any worse._

Rolling my eyes, I began to stomp up the stairs- only to freeze in my tracks at the sound of a smoky voice from the conservatory.

"Oh, Wednesday, darling? I forgot to mention your engagement party tomorrow. Don't worry, sweetheart, I just invited family and a few close friends. Be sure to have Lucas bring his parents, and…"

But I didn't hear the rest, because by that time I'd reached my room and slammed the door shut.

Suicide would have been the sensible thing to do. Grab a bottle of arsenic and end this fiasco the honorable way before it even got started. But obviously, I couldn't do that. I'd had a proper upbringing, after all.

Throwing myself onto the bed, I ran through an extensive mental list of poisons and tried to think of one to which I wasn't immune. That was the problem with a proper upbringing- it made suicide very difficult.

There was nothing else for it. The Addamses and Beinekes would have to meet.

I rolled over and fumbled around in my bedside drawer for my cell phone. Drawing the black rectangle out, I glared at it in distaste. Lucas had insisted I get one for easy communication, even if it had only the most basic package and lived in the "off" position. Father had nearly exploded when I'd asked him for it, and even now shook his head disapprovingly if he saw me with the thing.

But every marriage involves sacrifices.

As I dashed off the fatal text to my unsuspecting fiancé, worst-case scenarios and plans for damage control raced through my mind. If I thought the dinner two months ago was bad, this was shaping up to be utter disaster.

-  
>AN: Uh-oh. This can't end well.

**Gleefully Wicked**, I promise I'm not trying to plagiarize the idea of Wednesday having a cell phone. It was in the story before I read your (very entertaining) oneshot. ^^"


	3. In Which There Is Aggressive Texting

A/N: Here we go again. Me no own. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far; you guys are wonderful.

**Charlie-pace-shall-live-again**, everyone wants their own Lucas. Unfortunately, LucasMart is always out of stock when I try to get one. :(  
>-<p>

**Mother holding engagement party tomorrow. Bring parents. –Love, W.**

Lucas Beineke squeezed his eyes shut, counted to ten, and re-read the text. Unfortunately, the black letters glowing on the screen remained unchanged. The chatter of the restaurant around him faded to a dull roar.

"Lucas, dear? What is it?"

He quickly pressed the "sleep" button and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"Nothing, Mom. Just a text from Wednesday."

A smile lit up Alice's face, and he wondered for the umpteenth time why she liked his fiancée so much. No similar interests, no common life experiences- there couldn't be two women more different. And yet, his mother had taken to the younger woman famously.

"And what does she say?" his mother asked, taking another roll from the breadbasket.

_To tell or not to tell?_ If the Addamses were expecting them, his parents would have to know. But then again, maybe he could just keep quiet and have Wednesday pass along the message that something had come up. A family illness, perhaps, or an accident-

Another vibration from his pocket. With an exasperated sigh, Lucas dug out his phone and slid the switch to unlock it.

**So help me, Lucas Matthew Beineke, if you leave me hanging on this one there will be urban legends about your death. I will hang you incompletely, cut out your entrails and burn them before you, decapitate you, draw and quarter your body, grind up the remains, and feed them to Mother's plants. I might even call off the wedding. –Love, W.**

As he began to reply, another text interrupted him.

**Yes, I do know how to do the aforementioned. –Love, W.**

His fingers flew across the keypad. If he didn't cut her off now, the Great Flood of Text Messages would descend. Explaining to a bemused employee at the electronics store that his phone had crashed under a load of increasingly imaginative death threats was not an experience he wanted to repeat.

**Relax, Di, we'll be there. I love you, too. –Lucas.**

_So much for keeping quiet_.

"Well, Lucas? Is everything alright?"

He looked up at his mother's rosy, slightly worried face and replied, with a rather forced smile, "Yeah, no, it's fine."

Now or never. "Mr. and Mrs. Addams are having an engagement party for us at their house tomorrow night. They'd like you and Dad to be there."

Alice beamed. "Isn't that sweet? Tell them of course we'll come."

"Come to what?"

Mal had returned from the bathroom. Sliding back into his seat, he glanced quizzically at her over his glasses.

"What are we coming to, Alice?"

"Oh, Mal," she replied, swallowing a bite of ravioli, "the Addamses are throwing Lucas and Wednesday an engagement party! Won't that be fun?"

The realtor's lips went tight for a moment, and Lucas watched him with baited breath. If his father could plead some previous work commitment…

But Mal simply sniffed, tucked his napkin back into his collar, and became absorbed in his lentil soup. The seconds dragged by, wife and son both staring at him expectantly. Finally, without looking up, he spoke.

"Ask them when this thing starts. We'll need to allow some driving time; the traffic on the I-40 is particularly bad in the evening."

Alice tucked back into her food with a satisfied little smile; Lucas bit his tongue to keep from groaning.

_It's not that they're not being generous, but- geez, we should have eloped when we had the chance._ Parties were not his cup of tea, and he knew Wednesday liked them even less.

Oh well. At least his parents had gotten the culture shock out of the way early. He pulled out his phone yet again and began to type.

**What time? –Lucas**

The answer arrived before he'd even had time to put the phone away; the mental image of Wednesday shouting his question through the halls of the crumbling mansion made him smile- but the smile faded as he read.

**7:30. If I don't shoot myself before then. You should be here; Mother's calling/telegraphing/psychically contacting/smoke-signaling every relative within a 100-mile radius. I can't do this. I am going to kill something. Why on Earth does she do this? People will have plenty of time to meet you once we're married. And I love my family, but I'll have to stand there while they go on about how much I've grown and how only yesterday I was toddling around with my first battleaxe and wouldn't the nice young man like to see pictures of me toddling around with my first battleaxe and what ever happened to that Mr. So-and-So that I dated back in seventh grade and I'm wearing my hair differently these days and I **_**will**_ **be getting married in black, yes? Then they'll tell you embarrassing things like that time when I had to play a flower in my third-grade musical. I cannot do this, Lucas. Help. –Love, W.**

She really needed to do something about these emotional outbursts. Lucas leaned back against the booth's red, plastic upholstery and took a deep breath. It was, of course, impossible to send tranquility through a text message, but he would do his level best.

**Wednesday**, he typed, **calm down. It's just a family party- you, me, my parents, and your relatives. Besides, a woman as courageous, determined, and deadly as you can handle anything. –All my love, Lucas.**

A whooshing sound let him know that the message had sent. Though he waited, it became apparent that the recipient had either settled down or crushed her phone out of anxiety. Either way, there was nothing he could do about it. He turned his attention to the now-cold hamburger on his plate.

About three bites later, Lucas felt the insistent vibration in his pocket. He pulled out the phone.

**Appreciate the vote of confidence. Going to relax by putting Pugsley in the electric chair again. See you tomorrow. –Love, W.**

_The storm's passed,_ he thought with a small smile.

"It's at 7:30. And we should probably bring a bottle of wine or something- if only for Mom's sake."

Across the table, Alice blushed and focused intently on her pasta.

-  
>AN: Well, some lovely person was kind enough to post the entire show on YouTube, so I've filled the gaps in my knowledge. One of the things I found particularly amusing was Wednesday's mood swings, so I tried playing with that. Let's just say that she's gotten a bit more used to having/dealing with emotions by "Auld Lang Syne."


	4. In Which Old Faces Reappear

A/N: The Addams Family; I don't own it. Them. Whatever.  
>-<p>

_It's not too late to call this off._

But it was. I could already hear the dull roar of talk, laughter, and the occasional shriek from downstairs. The house was packed with the strangest denizens of five states, all come to gossip and commit minor felonies.

_I can plead sickness._

I hadn't been sick since I was eight.

_It won't be as bad as my imagination._

That one was true- it would probably be worse.

I sighed, finished doing the clasp on my necklace, and examined my reflection in the mirror. At least no-one would be able to complain about what I was wearing; the sleeveless sundress was safely black, as were the matching sandals. Acknowledging the season might cause a bit of a stir, but- well, it would be worse to end up drenched in sweat at my own engagement party.

As for the locket, Mother had given it to me only minutes before. Apparently it was one of those heirlooms meant to be passed from mother to daughter. I'd thanked her, admiring the ruby on the front of the oval pendant, and promised to wear it. She'd been curiously silent about the lock of hair inside, which appeared to be an odd greenish shade, but it didn't _seem_ cursed…

Clipping back one side of my hair with a vole-skull barrette, I took a deep breath and started for the door. There was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer.

And sure enough, before I'd even reached the stairs, what appeared to be a flowering hedge clad in white gauze collided with me.

"Hello, Aunt Ophelia."

The hedge shook, releasing a shower of petals onto the floor. A moment later the flowers parted, revealing a pale face with slightly protruding blue eyes.

"Oh, Wednesday, dear," the woman said in an airy voice, "I was just coming to find you. Everyone's passing distressed, wondering where you are!"

As we descended the stairs, I tried to make conversation. "Your flowers are still growing," I said, indicating the blooms sprouting from beneath her blonde hair.

"Yes, yes, they're doing quite well. In fact, my latest beau- oh, you'll just have to meet my Desmond; he's the most wonderful, romantic, dashing man ever to tread this mortal coil! Anyway, Desmond was saying that this new kind of fertilizer has done wonders for them, and I must agree-"

Aunt Ophelia was like a set of chattering novelty teeth- once wound up, she'd keep going forever. As she conversed with herself, I scanned the crowd, trying to assess the danger level.

Nobody in the room stood out as particularly unusual at first glance- normal abnormality. And for the first thirteen years of my life, this was how I'd always seen my family. The two-headed woman in the corner wasn't a monster or a freak; she was just Aunt Hilda, who could be counted on to give me candy. What appeared to be a giant, upside-down mop was my cousin, a playboy who liked to sit in the chimney. Yes, every gathering with the family looked like a funeral, but I couldn't tell the difference between a funeral and any other event.

Then middle school happened, and I'd developed a mental checklist of Things That Weren't Normal. Other people didn't have a cemetery in the backyard. Other people didn't wear black all the time. Other people didn't have three-armed cousins, or names like "Amnesia," or pet octopi. I learned to see the difference between normal and…well, us.

Most of the time, I didn't care. But this was different.

Sure enough, there were Flora and Fauna Amore, Cousin Itt (with Margaret and little Whatt in tow), Granny Frump, and the usual contingent of black-clad, obscure relatives.

I sighed. It wasn't for the Beinekes; they knew what to expect. But from my family, I'd never hear the end of it.

"Ah, there you are, sweetheart!"

Mother glided over as we reached the bottom of the stairs and took my hand from the still-babbling Ophelia. Then she turned back to the crowd.

"Here's our bride-to-be, everyone," she called- and disappeared among the flood of relatives that pressed forward. Suddenly I was being hugged, kissed, congratulated, and generally talked at from every direction.

"I haven't seen you since you were-"

"We always knew you'd be the next to-"

"…can't believe you're all grown up!"

"_Mrss erfrfr erkrr!"_

I fought my way through the crowd, mumbling as politely as I could that yes, it had been a long time, and of course the wedding was on Halloween, and no, that sabre wound didn't look gangrenous. For a moment, the world seemed like one continuous mass of dark or muted colors that had no end.

And then I was through, trying to catch my breath on the other side. Judging by the quiet buzz of chat behind me, the crowd had separated back into satellite groups the minute I got free. That figured.

Glancing around the room, I spotted the instigator of this mess. There she stood, cool and serene, talking to an unfamiliar couple in a safely distant corner. I started towards my mother, fuming the whole way.

True to form, she looked up just as I reached the little group.

"My dear, why aren't you circulating? Some of the family have come across oceans, you know, and they haven't seen you since-"

"I know," I interrupted. "I've just been personally informed by every guest here, _at once_, how long it's been since he, she, or it last saw me."

The concerned expression on her face would have netted an Oscar then and there. "Oh, no; are you getting overwhelmed already? The evening's just beginning."

"I'm not overwhelmed, I'm just…"

I trailed off, staring at the woman Mother had been talking to. She looked about 40, and completely unexceptional in a blue chiffon dress- which meant she stood out like a sore thumb here. But more intriguing was the little boy she was frantically trying to shut up.

"Bertie, be quiet and let the lady talk," she whispered. The dark-haired boy, who couldn't have been more than six years old, wasn't having it.

"But Mommy," he said, pointing at me, "that's my-"

"…_cousin_ Wednesday, yes, and she's getting married soon," the woman finished. She turned her slightly wild gaze on Mother in what looked like a silent appeal for help.

"Mother," I began slowly, "who's this?"

I remember every time I've seen my mother look less than composed. The instances can be counted on one hand, so it always comes as a shock.

The combination of sadness and…well, almost pure rage that crept over her face now made number four.

"Wednesday, dear," she said in a careful monotone, "surely you remember your brother, Pubert?"

Oh.

Of course, I remembered him. Things like a four-year-old disowning his parents tend to stick in your mind. The day Aunt Muriel and Uncle Joe came to pick him up was Mother's Composure Lapse Number Two on my list; he hadn't even said goodbye. Just announced that we were all weird and he hated us and didn't want to live here anymore.

We didn't talk about him after that. And yet, here he stood in a neat Oxford shirt and crisply ironed khakis, looking up at me with nothing but polite interest.

"Are you my sister?" he asked. Three pairs of eyes honed in on me, and I realized there was no good way to answer him.

"You don't want me to be," I finally replied.

"Mommy says you're my cousin."

"And I guess Mommy would know."

"I had a sister once, but she looked different from you."

Aunt Muriel cut in, sparing me from having to answer. "Now, Bertie, it's been two years since you saw cousin Wednesday."

And here we went again with the age comments. Had someone sent out a script?

_Something, anything, get me out of this situation._

The universe decided to have one of its perversely obliging moments. A foghorn sounded, loud and low, throughout the room. Lurch- _where's he been hiding?_- started for the entrance hall, but I ran to stop him.

"Thank you, Lurch; I'll get it."

Not waiting for or expecting a response, I smoothed my hair and dress and opened the door. My future in-laws had never been my favorite people in the world- to put it mildly. But standing on the porch with faintly bemused expressions, they looked like guardian angels in that moment.

And standing between them, the man who made everything right.

"Come in," I said, not even bothering with a smile. They'd know it was false, and I didn't feel like bending over backwards just to insult their intelligence.

As they stepped inside, I grabbed Lucas' shoulder to hold him back. He turned around and smiled.

"You look amazing, Di; I missed you so-mmf!"

I could have stood there the whole night kissing him, and let the party go to hell. But family came first. When we broke apart, I slipped my arm through his and dug my nails into his sleeve.

"You are _not_ leaving my side."

"Nervous? _You're_ nervous?"

"No. I just want to stand by the one person in the room who's seen me within the last year."

To his credit, my fiancé didn't comment as we walked into the crowded ballroom.

-  
>AN: For those of you who haven't seen "Addams Family Values," Pubert is not an OC. He's the third Addams child, who was born in AFV and hasn't been used in any Addams Family incarnation since. I believe one of the later (and worse) movies had Wednesday mentioning that there used to be a third sibling that got eaten. Anyway, in the spirit of mixing movies, musical, and TV show, I decided to bring him back.


	5. Which Features Awkward Conversations

A/N: Sorry for the slight delay in updates; I've been a bit busy with that pesky Real Life stuff. But on with the show! I don't own any of the characters involved in this, but I wish I owned Wednesday's skull barrette.  
>-<p>

"And what exactly is it that you do?"

It would have been impolite to stare. After all, the person standing before her could hardly help the way he was. Some people were just born odd.

"Well," the young man began, adjusting his tie, "I'm waiting to hear back about a teaching position at a high school in Pennsylvania."

_The poor, misguided thing!_

"Really?" Flora said in her gentlest tone. It wouldn't do to startle the boy-

-and, Fauna thought, the look her niece…cousin…in-law…_his fiancée_ was giving her threatened a slow, painful demise.

Wednesday's intended- Lucas? Louis?- seemed to have the same thought. He glanced sidelong at the young woman, who tightened her grip on his arm.

He swallowed hard. "Yes. Teaching English. It's convenient to a nice neighborhood, and a town, and…er…"

His sentence trailed off with a sound of ripping fabric. The twins, who had been attempting to subtly push down the already-plunging necklines of their mauve taffeta dress, guiltily stiffened.

"Wednesday," Lucas said quietly, "I actually kind of like this jacket."

"Right. Sorry," she said, releasing his sleeve to reveal five small tears in the navy cloth.

* * *

><p>A candelabra, a vase of brownish thorns, and half of the hors d'oeurves table clattered to the ground. So did Malcolm Beineke.<p>

"You see?" Ophelia fluttered. "It's really quite good for the circulation."

The father of the groom stood gingerly, rubbing his back. _You like these people_, he reminded himself. _Or at least, you already told your son you did._

"And to think, none of my other beaux liked helping me with my judo practice." The blonde fondly pinched the cheek of a rather grimy man in a black leather jacket. "But fair Desmond has been more than willing. Haven't you, my dearest heart?"

The man leered at her, showing a scattering of yellow teeth among mostly-empty, inflamed gums.

Still slightly hunched, Mal attempted to salvage the conversation. "So, how long have you two been together?"

Ophelia beamed at her tattooed swain. "Almost a week. But it feels like a lifetime."

The seconds ticked by, and it became apparent that neither of the lovebirds was going to break the silence. Mal tried again.

"How about these crazy kids, eh? Can you believe it?"

His future in-law finally turned her pale gaze on him again, smiling faintly.

"Oh, yes," she said. "We always said she'd marry an odd one. It comes of all those years of public school, you know."

"But I thought- wasn't she homeschooled?" He filed the "odd one" comment away for indignant examination later.

"Only after seventh grade. That was when Morticia and Gomez finally took an interest and realized what kind of nonsense those teachers were spouting."

With a meaningful sniff, Ophelia dismissed the entire public school system. Against his better judgment, Mal decided to take the plunge.

"What kind of nonsense, exactly?"

Leaning in as if imparting scandalous secrets, the flowery woman whispered, "They told her about…_fire extinguishers_."

* * *

><p>"…and Keats, don't talk to me about that hack! If he knew what he was doing, how come he died so young?"<p>

The casual observer, were he on a game show called "Spot The Addams," would have been stumped by the trio leaning against the wall. A mop-like mass of hair in sunglasses and a bowler hat, a tall, skinny man with impressive buck teeth, and a middle-aged woman in yellow chiffon. All three clutched wineglasses full of suspicious-looking dark liquid, and all three looked like survivors of a train wreck.

The mop made a chittering noise of agreement, and tipped a twisted green bottle into the woman's goblet. She took another sip.

"What vintage did you say this was again?"

More chittering.

"Only I'm not supposed to drink anything from you people. My husband and son made it a family rule. Stupidest thing I've ever heard. You've met my son, right? He's marrying your- how are you related to Wednesday?"

"_Mrss rfsrfl."_

"Fine. He's marrying your cousin. You know, she's not bad-looking now that she's not wearing a freakin' feed sack."

The tall man gave her an affronted look, working one finger idly in his left nostril. She stared up at him and snorted.

"What? Did I offend you? Well, I'm sorry for stepping on your toes, mister, but the girl's looked like some kind of pilgrim every other time I saw her. Except that one time- then she just looked like a cross between a lemon and a Puritan hooker."

The mop took another sip of its drink and chittered excitedly.

"It was back in November," the slightly flushed redhead replied, adjusting her scarf. "Obligatory meet-the-parents dinner. Whole thing went to hell in a handbasket, but before all that, just after we arrived, Little Miss Poe there comes flouncing down the stairs in this yellow dress."

She paused to take another swig of the now-bubbling drink. "Let me tell you, that really put the cat amog- ano- in with the pigeons."

Her drinking companions were still processing this information when Morticia glided over, holding a glass of clearly innocuous red wine in each hand.

"Alice, dear, there you are! I prepared your drink myself, just like you asked, and…you've…already got one…"

She trailed off, taking in the scene before her. Alice raised her reddened eyes from the viscous black substance in her glass to the wine before her.

"Oh god," Alice groaned, rubbing her head. "Not again."

* * *

><p>"<em>What?<em>"

"But they've got the antidote in her and she should be fine in an hour or so."

"I'm going to kill them. I am honestly going to cut their throats."

"It was just a prank; Mom's not even mad. Well, not at them. And Dad's back is only sprained."

"Or maybe I'll just set the whole house on fire."

From his corner near the counter, Lucas sighed. The kitchen had seemed the most out-of-the-way place to take his fiancée when she learned what had been going on. He'd even managed to get her here before hyperventilation had given way to the "murderous rage" phase.

"Di," he said, approaching her slowly, "everything is going to be fine. Years from now, we'll look back on this around a roaring fire at Christmas and laugh."

He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. Every couple has horror stories about their wedding. Hopefully we've gotten ours out of the way early."

Her silence gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd gotten through…

"If we lay down enough kerosene, we can blame it on a gas leak."

…or not.

Stepping away, he rubbed his forehead. First his sleeve, then his parents, and now his bride-to-be. Everything seemed to be falling apart tonight. If only some kind of deus ex machine could descend from the heavens and fix things.

"Hello? Wednesday? Lucas? If I'm interrupting anything, let me know now before I open my eyes!"

_Of course, sidling through the kitchen door works, too._

"No, Mr. Addams," the young man called, "you can open them."

Gomez blinked and appeared to breathe a sigh of relief. He smiled and opened his mouth to speak- but then caught sight of his daughter's face and shut it again. With an expression that was all fatherly concern, he walked over to her.

Gently pushing a strand of hair back from her face, he said, "Pigeon…it'll never hold up in court. You and I both know from experience, eh? No such thing as untraceable."

He turned slightly towards Lucas. "The gas leak excuse, right? That's an old favorite. Why, I remember this one time when she was seven-"

"Father." Wednesday cut him off, straightening up slightly. "I'm alright. Really. You don't have to go into old stories."

Her father shrugged. "Some other time," he sighed, gazing at the floor with a look of chagrin.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Lucas asked.

Gomez shook his head and patted his future son-in-law on the arm.

"No, no, everything is going swimmingly. I think your mother's almost back to normal, and I gave your father the card of this splendid chiropractor I know down in the Amazon. But I wonder, might I have a word with my daughter privately?"

Something was off about his tone, but Lucas decided not to push the matter. Instead, he just nodded and, pressing a quick kiss on Wednesday's cheek, slipped out the swinging door into the crowded ballroom.

The bride-to-be glanced warily at Gomez.

"Father…?"

He bit his lip slightly, wiped imaginary dust from his pinstriped suit, pretended to examine the begrimed oven door- in short, made a meal of looking everywhere but at his daughter.

"Now, I've made my opinion clear on the matter. You and Lucas have my full blessing and support in your marriage. But…"

"But?" she replied, hurrying towards him. "But? But what? There aren't any buts; we're getting married whether you like it or-"

"For pity's sake, let me finish! I know you're getting married, and I couldn't be happier. But…well, paloma, it's some of your other relatives. They're happy for you, but they seem to think the Beinekes are a very strange family."

For the first time in eighteen years spent in and out of that kitchen, Wednesday found herself wondering if the cabinet doors were heavy enough to provide lethal blunt force trauma.

-  
>AN: Go, go, gadget: translation website!

"**paloma** _(Zoo.)_ pigeon; dove."

Well. That's surprisingly straightforward. (Seven years of Spanish classes and I still had to look it up. Wow.)


	6. Which Explores The Joys of Siblinghood

**A/N**: Wow. I really dropped the update ball this time, didn't I? Eheheh. Eheheheheheheh. ^^"

Oh look, quality sibling time! [runs in the opposite direction]

* * *

><p>"Are you really my sister?"<p>

"Yes."

"Mommy says you're not."

"I am."

"Are you dead?"

"No."

"Are you really getting married?"

"Yes."

"Are you marrying Count Dracula?"

If I hadn't known how difficult fratricide would be, my youngest brother would have been hanging from a scaffold inside five minutes. Lowering the battleaxe, I sighed and turned to face him.

"Pubert, you already met him. Did Lucas look like a vampire to you?"

The six-year-old's eyes widened. "_You're_ marrying Lucas?"

The surprise in his tone finally broke the camel's back. I began advancing on him, my knuckles white on the rusted blade's handle.

"Yes, I'm marrying Lucas. Yes, you have to come to the wedding. Yes, I am your sister. No, I'm not dead. The court ruled in my favor. I don't think Mother and Father have abused any of us. And if you ask me one more question, you will end up buried under several different trees in the cemetery."

"Do I make myself clear?" I finished. Now backed against the wall, he swallowed hard and nodded.

"Good."

I stalked back over to the whetstone and resumed sharpening the axe. After about three minutes, my anger began to recede. For the first time this morning, all was blissfully silent.

"_Morticia!"_

Five minutes. It had lasted five damn minutes.

"Morticia, do you know what that horrible daughter of yours has been telling my little boy?" Aunt Muriel's voice floated up through the floor, shrill and furious.

With a sigh, I stomped on the pedal again and watched the axe blade send up sparks.

* * *

><p>If it had been possible to turn back the clock six years, this scene would have looked much the same.<p>

True, all concerned would be much younger. Pubert wouldn't have been sitting uncomfortably between Pugsley and I; nor would his mother, looking equally skittish, occupy the plush armchair beside Mother's. I would have long braids and no ring on my left hand.

But the general atmosphere was eerily familiar. We had Erred As Siblings, and now it was time for A Talk.

Aunt Muriel shifted in her seat and glanced at Mother, clearing her throat pointedly. With what was clearly meant to be a soothing look, Mother turned back to us and leaned forward.

"Children," she began, "I know you haven't been under the same roof for quite some time. It's not at all unusual to have some trouble adjusting to each other. But you mustn't forget that you are, after all, siblings."

Her gaze focused on me. "Wednesday, what exactly did you say to your brother?"

I knew what she meant. But being talked to like this when I was 18 years old- about to be married, for heaven's sake- made me even pricklier than usual.

"Which one?"

Mother sighed. "Pubert, of course."

"I threatened him with an axe," I replied in a monotone.

Her lips curling up into a smile, my questioner glanced at Aunt Muriel. "You see?" she gushed. "Even after all this time, she still loves her baby brother."

Judging by the horrified grimace on my aunt's face, battleaxes were not her idea of sibling bonding. She fiddled anxiously with her pearl necklace.

"B-but Morticia, an axe? She might have killed him!"

The little traitor beside me nodded vigorously; I swear he opened his already-massive brown eyes even wider. Pubert was the image of a poor, innocent child wronged. From his "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" shirt to his light-up sneakers, there was no way he could be an Addams.

"Yeah! She might've killed me! An' all I wanted to know was whether I could have an extra slice of cake at the wedding." His gaze locked with mine for an instant. _I'm giving you an out_, those eyes said; _take it or leave it._

Maybe I'd underestimated him.

If war was what he wanted, I could play that game. "Was that before or after you asked if I was dead and implied that Lucas was too good for me?"

"You said _what_?" Pugsley rose out of his couch corner slightly, glaring daggers at our brother. I struggled to keep my surprise from showing; his was the last quarter I'd expected support from.

"Children, children, please!" Mother, noticing Aunt Muriel's rising flush, attempted to intervene. "Pubert, did you really say those things to your sister?"

Silence. The little rat was trapped and he knew it. Those puppy eyes shot back and forth between Pugsley and I for a few seconds, as if begging for help. Both of us stared at him, Pugsley scowling and I impassive.

Finally, our brother played his last card. He blinked rapidly, his lower lip beginning to tremble. A few tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Soon, a full-bodied wail erupted.

" 'S not my sister! Why are you all so mean?"

With that, he jumped off the couch and ran from the room, stopping only to shriek as the bearskin rug roared under his feet. Aunt Muriel leapt up.

"Bertie! Oh, Bertie, come back!" She turned to Mother, her face a silent plea.

Mother folded her arms, expression icy. "Well, Muriel. If he's your son, _you_ deal with him. As far as I can tell, Wednesday and Pugsley have done nothing wrong."

With that, she rose and glided into the conservatory, leaving our aunt to trail hopelessly behind. I looked at Pugsley, who shrugged.

"You know," he said, "I always thought they might have switched him at the hospital."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Sorry to make you guys wait so long for an update. I'll be going home for Christmas next week and will try to update then. Unfortunately, shortly thereafter I'll be bloody-mouthed and on painkillers, because my wisdom teeth have to come out. So I'm not sure when the next chapter will be, but I'll try to make it worth the wait. Thanks for your patience!


	7. In Which Wednesday Tries To Explain

**A/N**: I really don't have much to say this time, so on to the story! I haven't spontaneously gained ownership of any of these characters over the past few weeks, in case you were wondering. xD  
>-<p>

"Wait, explain this to me again?"

I sighed heavily and fell back against a tree. On a horribly bright day like this, I shouldn't even have been outside, much less in the middle of a clearing. Mother had gone into full-blown wedding preparation mode; if she thought I'd done anything to jeopardize my complexion, I'd never hear the end of it.

But if I'd stayed in the house for one more minute, it would have been a smoldering crater.

"Pubert is my youngest brother-"

Lucas cut me off. "I thought he was your cousin."

"I was there when he was born," I said, rolling my eyes. "Trust me."

"Wow." He gave a low whistle.

"You wouldn't have recognized him as a baby. He had a mustache like to Father's." Against my will, a note of wistfulness crept into my voice.

Good grief, was I actually remembering my brother fondly? All those years of guillotines, nooses, and high drops, erased by nostalgia. Next thing I'd be offering to read him a bedtime story.

Incredulous laughter brought me back to reality; my fiancé stared at me with raised eyebrows.

"A mustache? How…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

I glared at him. "No, you shouldn't."

Lucas scooped a pinecone off the ground and began absently fiddling with the stem. "So, how did he get from there to-"

"-'Bob the Builder?'" I finished with a sidelong glance. "Good question. And nobody knows the answer. Around age three, he just started changing…"

"_Sit still!"_

"_I don't want to! Stop it!"_

_Loading the tommy gun, I sigh in exasperation. If my brothers stop squabbling for five seconds, it will be a miracle. I am 15 and rapidly losing patience with them. I set down the funnel and turn around._

"_Pubert, why are you…" My eyes widen and I trail off._

_The three-year-old in the stocks is clearly my brother: the same black hair and tiny mustache. But his dark eyes are brimming with tears, some of which are already rolling down his unusually rosy cheeks._

_Without looking away from him, I say, "Pugsley, get Mother. Now."_

"So he was crying, what does that mean? All kids cry."

I shook my head. "I never did, and neither did Pugsley. And he looked sort of…pink. Flushed. It's hard to explain. Up until that day, he loved the firing squad game; it was his favorite."

"Right," Lucas said. An idle part of my brain noticed that he was still holding the pinecone. "I keep forgetting who we're talking about."

With a sigh, I continued, "For months, things got worse. He wouldn't play, wouldn't eat. Started asking if we could get a television. And then one day…"

_Mother's shrill scream doesn't startle me. I am 16 and plotting my latest ex-boyfriend's demise; people scream around here all the time. What finally makes me set aside pen, notebook, and poison chest is the sound of sobbing._

_As I make my way down the hall, it becomes apparent that Mother isn't the one crying. The wails have a distinctly masculine tone- and I almost break into a run. Whatever could make Father cry must be catastrophic._

_I reach the door of Pubert's room and stop dead. Standing on the braided gray rug is a child I've never seen before._

_A baseball cap covers his dark, tousled hair. The smiling tank engine on his t-shirt matches the one on the hat, a figure that appears again on the sneakers barely visible beneath a small pair of jeans. His slightly tanned face suggests a fondness for sports, perhaps Little League or peewee football. Apart from my distraught parents standing beside him like a two-person Greek chorus, the boy could be any average, red-blooded American boy._

_He has no mustache. For some reason, this fact above all others stands out in my mind. There's no way I can be looking at my brother._

"_Please," Mother begs, dabbing her eyes with a scrap of black lace, "tell us what we did wrong!"_

_Father, still weeping, places a hand on not-Pubert's shoulder. "Son, why?"_

_The boy begins to say something about Uncle Bob and Aunt Muriel, but I've seen enough. Before they can notice me, I back out of the room._

"From there, it was only a matter of time. About three months before I met you, he called those traitors to come pick him up. Apparently they'd been taking him places while the rest of us were out- last time Mother and Father trusted Grandma to babysit. Honestly, I don't know why they ever did; she doesn't fall asleep as much as go into temporary comas."

Silence greeted the end of my story, broken only by the dull _thud_ when Lucas chucked the pinecone aside. He chewed his lip for a moment, seeming to digest the new information.

"Did they legally adopt him?"

I thought for a moment. "Not that I know of. But they might as well have. I haven't seen him since that day."

"Could he have picked it up at school…?" Lucas volunteered. Again, I shook my head.

"We were homeschooled by then. Mother and Father didn't trust mainstream education after the Chippewa incident."

"The what?"

Oh, right. He didn't know.

"Summer camp, when I was 12. Pugsley and I were sent there because of a misunderstanding. It didn't end well, but that's a long story," I replied. The wind blew a few strands of hair across my face, and I tucked them back. Lucas stepped closer.

"So now Pubert's come home," he said.

"For the wedding. They're staying with us until then. And I'm not sure how long I can stand it."

Something skittered in a pine across the clearing; I loaded my bow and took aim. The arrow whistled through the air and, as a dead squirrel fell to the ground, some of the knots in my stomach unclenched. Of course, that might also have had something to do with the proximity of my fiancé.

I turned back to him. "In other words…I'm glad to see you." Any response he might have made was cut off when I pressed my lips to his.

For a few moments, there was nothing but Lucas: his smell, his taste, the warmth of his skin. Once again, most of my mind shouted that the wedding could go hang, that I should just stay here with him forever.

One tiny voice, however, shrieked something about time and responsibility and an errand I'd been suckered into.

I pulled away- probably a first in the history of our relationship- and fumbled in my coat pocket. Drawing out my phone, I pressed the round "on" button and watched the screen light up.

_1:30. Damn._

His arms still around my waist, Lucas looked at me in confusion. "Di, is everything okay?"

With a strangled growl of annoyance, I slipped out of his embrace.

"Sorry. Mother's forcing me to go on an errand, and I'm already half an hour late."

"What errand?" he asked, attempting to straighten his rumpled shirt.

"The most horrible of all imaginable fates," I answered. "Shoe shopping."

He blinked. "Really? What's so bad about that?"

I glanced down at my right boot and contemplated removing it in answer to his question. He'd seen me barefoot before, but (given the circumstances) I doubted he'd been looking at my feet.

There was no time for a demonstration now, though. I pulled a slightly bloodied rag from my pocket along with a pen, wrote something down, and handed it to him.

"Preaxial polydactyly. Right foot. Look it up, and never ask why I hate shoe shopping again."

I turned to go, but hadn't even reached the tree line when his voice stopped me.

"Oh, by the way, Mom said to tell you that she's arranged your bridal shower."

No. Oh, no. I couldn't have heard him right; there had to be some mistake.

"My _what_?"

-  
><strong>AN**: To save you a Wikipedia trip, polydactyly is the condition of having extra fingers or toes. Preaxial polydactyly means that the extra digit(s) is(are) attached to the main bones of the foot or hand and possess bones themselves- as far as I know. I'm not a doctor. Anyway, Charles Addams once revealed that Wednesday has an extra toe on one foot; it seemed like a fun little tidbit to work in. The idea is explored further in one chapter of Gleefully Wicked's fantastic story, "iPhone," which you should all go read.


	8. In Which There Is Pink

**A/N:** This chapter brought to you by: the fact that my oral surgeon didn't tell me I'd have to flush out the sockets where my wisdom teeth were with a syringe full of water. At least, not until now, a week after the surgery. So I'm being a method writer today- about as homicidally angry as my heroine.

**Wednesday:** You get to stick a medical implement into holes in your mouth. How is this a bad thing?  
><strong>Me:<strong> Strangely enough, I don't like seeing the aftermath of oral surgery. You probably removed your own wisdom teeth with no problems.  
><strong>Wednesday<strong>: Actually, it was difficult to get Pugsley to hold the mirror at the right angle. And when I made the first incision, the blood-  
><strong>Me:<strong> *hurriedly* Yes, well, on to the chapter!

I still don't own any characters used herein, except Aunt Lucy.

* * *

><p>When I was a baby, according to Mother, I had a crippling phobia of the color pink. Apparently, it runs in the family. Still, relatives claimed no other infant Addams girl had wailed quite as loudly as I did whenever the offending shade entered my line of sight. My parents have said, in the years since, that they could tell more readily when something pink appeared than when I was sick or teething (well, the last one became apparent when I started going for the jugular, but that's beside the point).<p>

The moment I stepped into the foyer of Lucy Beineke's house, it all came flooding back.

Somehow I seemed to have left Earth and entered a world of sheer pinkness. Pink streamers hung in crepe paper ribbons from the modest chandelier. Gauzy, pink-and-white material swathed every visible wall. Even the long table I could barely see through an open door at the end of the hall was covered with a pink tablecloth.

My shock was finally broken when Alice plowed into me from behind, laden with bags of food.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Wednesday, I just didn't..." Her flustered apology trailed off as she gazed at the décor openmouthed.

"What the..." she breathed. "This- none of this was here before!"

Heels clacking against the hardwood floor, she set off towards what I guessed was the dining room, calling "Lucy? Lu-cyyy!"

As I stood there, fighting the impulse to either flee or torch the place, Mother's words echoed in my mind.

"**I still don't see why you have to go all the way out to- to _Ohio_," she said with a shudder. "Isn't it traditional for the bride's family to be present at the shower?"**

**I slammed the suitcase shut and turned to face her.**

"**Mother, no one is going to Ohio. The shower's at Lucas' aunt's house in Syracuse. And I've never heard of that tradition- didn't you have Debbie's bridal shower here?"**

**She sniffed, idly examining the sample invitations on my desk. "You forget, dear, that her family was the one thing she was honest about. But not everyone can be so fortunate as to have lost their parents in a house fire."**

"**Look," I sighed, "Alice is already elbow-deep in party planning; I don't want to know what would happen if I called a halt to it. If they could survive two evenings here, I can manage one simple bridal shower."**

**Hopefully the words sounded more convincing to her than they did to me. But judging by her stony expression, she was still just as uncertain as I was.**

"**I don't like it. Who knows if this..._Lucy_ person even keeps decent food in the house? We've never met her, and-"**

"**I'm not staying the night," I cut in, wrapping an extra pair of tights a bottle of strychnine as padding. "Lucas and I are going back to his place after the shower; you know that."**

**The minute the words were out, I regretted them. A sly smile crept across Mother's face. Slinking across the room, she placed a beringed hand on my shoulder.**

"**Ah," she purred, "so the shower's not the main attraction." Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper.**

"**Do remember to be careful, my pet. He's not part of the family until you've married him, and outsiders tend to break so easily."**

Even in the middle of this pink nightmare, the memory brought a hint of a smile. Lucas knew the rule already, and it was probably a measure of his love that he was willing to abide by it.

Regardless of name or gender, nobody ever married out of my family. Only in.

Shrieking from the distant dining room jerked me back to pastel reality. Alice, it seemed, didn't need magic potion to get furious.

"...the perfect colors for a bridal shower!" an unfamiliar, shrill voice was saying. "Not like that nasty stuff you had all over the place before I got back."

"What's wrong with white and gray?" This from Alice. I blinked, mildly surprised; had she actually been willing to defy convention for me?

"Nothing- at a funeral!" The other voice- Aunt Lucy?- was moving closer now, accompanied by the click of high-heeled shoes. "This is a _happy_ occasion, Alice; your son is getting married!"

From what I could hear, my future mother-in-law was following her sister towards the foyer. "Lucy, the bridal shower isn't about my son. It's about the bride, whom you haven't met, may I add."

"Nonsense!"

An older woman in a lavender pantsuit strode into view. Though half-turned to continue the argument, she was obviously related to Alice- her neat chignon was the same vibrant red as the other woman's curls, though streaked with gray. She was holding an armload of pink carnations, and talking a mile a minute.

"Unless she's blind or dead, if she's a woman, she'll love it. Really, Alice, you have no sense for this kind of-"

"Lucy, look out!"

Only Alice's frustrated exclamation stopped the jabbering hostess from running into me. Lucy finally turned around- and stopped dead, openmouthed. The flowers fell quietly to the floor.

After a moment, she seemed to regain her composure. Adjusting her cat's-eye glasses, she shot me an exasperated look. "Stephanie, you couldn't have dressed like a normal human being just this once?"

Alice, face flushed and jacket askew, slowly moved to stand between us. She took a deep breath.

"Lucy, this isn't your niece; Stephanie's still in London. I'd like you to meet Lucas' fiancee, Wednesday Addams."

Though I'd never seen someone in cardiac arrest, Lucy gave what I imagined to be a good approximation. Her face went white, then gradually reddened to an impressive shade of purple. The only sound that came from her still-moving lips was something like a punctured tire releasing air. A minute later, her legs seemed to crumple, and she collapsed.

The large hallway was silent for a moment, Alice and I eyeing each other and the mound of purple polyester on the floor. Finally, the would-be poet spoke.

"I shouldn't say she deserved that, but...well, just leave her there and come help me with the food. Oh, and could you check her pulse on the way to the kitchen?"

With that, she set off towards the dining room in a swirl of blue chiffon. As I bent to feel the gentle throbbing on the side of Lucy's neck, I made a mental note to ask Grandma about any permanent effects of acrimonium.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Holy narrative causality, it's actually done! I thought I'd never finish this chapter. I'll try not to procrastinate so long on the next update; sorry for the wait. The next chapter will probably be another series of party vignettes, like the engagement party. The other Beineke ladies are in for an unpleasant surprise... :)


	9. Which Goes About As Well As Expected

**A/N:** Oh look, a new chapter. As usual, I own very few characters herein. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"So you're a housewife?"<p>

Funny how having no previous employment, no degree, and no career plans had never bothered me until now. My grip on the wineglass tightened, its stem creaking dangerously.

I regarded the middle-aged blond cooly. "No."

Her glossy, pink mouth puckered in confusion. "No? But...you said..."

"You don't have a job," a short, elderly woman interjected.

"No."

Blessed silence, for the first time in a good half-hour. I sipped my wine, a cabernet that could use some arsenic, and stared impassively at the semicircle of puzzled faces around me. It was the same reaction that had met the revelation that my dress was going to be black, and I hoped it would last the same ten minutes.

"Then you two will just be living off Lucas' salary? Teachers aren't paid well, you know."

Murphy's Law hit me again. I set my glass down on a pink-swathed end table and turned my best thousand-yard stare on the questioner.

"Tell me," I asked, "have you ever seen the June 1998 issue of Forbes? The one with a fat, bald man on the cover?"

* * *

><p>The tiny girl stared raptly from across the couch, blue eyes wide behind her glasses. "So what happened next?"<p>

"We burned the house and sowed the ground with salt."

"Did that make the evil ghosts go away?" she asked, almost before I'd finished speaking.

_Note to self: never introduce this kid to Pubert._ Her rapid-fire questions had been nonstop since she'd first noticed me. Two hours into this fiasco of a party, and I'd somehow acquired a stalker. Whatever her name was- Katie? Cathy?- had latched on like a lamprey.

After twenty minutes of mostly one-sided conversation, we had established that I was not a vampire, Lucas and I were getting married, I did not like dolls, I did believe in ghosts, and I had never seen "Phantom of the Opera." The exorcism story had been my last hope, an attempt to shut the little leech up. Given the way the day had been going, I should have known better.

"...but when you think about how many buildings must be haunted just in America, it's-"

Something finally snapped in my mind. Dropping my fork to the plate with a clatter, I glared at her.

"Do you ever stop talking?" I growled. It was, notably, the fourth polysyllabic thing I'd said in our conversation.

And it seemed to do the trick. The pudgy eight-year-old drew back against the yellow cushions, looking remarkably like a kicked puppy. As I stood to flee once more to the kitchen (which was mercifully devoid of pink), a petite woman with bushy hair bustled over.

"Cat," she said to the girl, with a rather nervous glance in my direction, "come say hello to Alice. You know her husband works with Daddy, and..."

I didn't hear the end of her sentence, but Cat's reply was audible- and made me cringe.

"But Mommy, she's _so cool_!"

* * *

><p>The box contained, predictably, more white lace and Spandex. I carefully replaced the pink cardboard lid- had these woman only heard of one color?<p>

"Oh my," Alice twittered, "lingerie! Well, we all know how useful that is, right, ladies?" She was trying to sound mischievous, but I could tell my future mother-in-law was cracking. Lucas' grandmother had already left in a huff after being told, in rather harsh terms, that it was _not_ going to be a shotgun wedding.

After opening two nightgowns, four coupies of Porn For Brides, five boxes of incredibly skimpy underwear, and one novelty hat with a veil and Micky Mouse ears, I could sympathize. As I set the newest box aside, I regretted not bringing a can of lighter fluid.

Only one package remained, a nondescript box wrapped in silver-dusted black paper. I glanced at the anxious-looking redhead in the armchair to my left.

"From you?"

She nodded. "It's just a little something I've always planned to give to Lucas' fiancee. If you don't like it..."

But I'd already torn through the wrappings- and felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth for the first time that afternoon.

* * *

><p>"You're unusually quiet."<p>

"You have clothes on. Two problems, and now that one's remedied..."

Lucas glanced at me briefly before returning his gaze to the road. "That bad, huh?"

"I have never seen that much pink in one place," I replied grimly.

My fiance raised one eyevrow. "Pink? But Mom planned the whole thing with you in mind, and she knows better than that."

"Well," I said, plucking some lint from my tights, "apparently the lady of the house got to the decorations while she was picking me up."

Judging by the way his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, dear Aunt Lucy's behavior was nothing new. But all he said was, "I'm so sorry, Di."

I shrugged. "It was just a party. I've handled worse." As we drove around a sharp curve, the large box shifted in my lap, jogging my memory.

"By the way," I said, holding it up, "do you know what your mother gave me?"

To my surprise, Lucas jumped slightly, stomping the accelerator and accidentally running a red light.

"Please tell me that's not what I think it is."

A smirk creeping across my face, I told him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Wonder what Alice's gift was? It sure would be nice to know, wouldn't it? Oh, wait, I do know! Wow, I'd hate it if I didn't know and had to wait until the next update to find out. The suspense would kill me! :)

Anyway, now that I'm done being evil, a bit of background information. Porn For Brides is not really porn, nor my invention. It's a book with photos of attractive, happy-looking men, with captions like "Honey, instead of the football game, why don't we watch that bridal show on the Home Shopping Channel?" It's cute, girly, and exactly the kind of gift that would drive Wednesday up the wall.


	10. Interlude

**A/N:** Happy Twelfth Night! Virtual cake and partying for everyone! (Can you tell I licked the inside of the frosting can while making my real cake? ^^") Now to resolve the cliffhanger...or should I put that in the next chapter instead? My, my, I could even wait to reveal it until the actual wedding scene, or the epilogue!

**[sound of a crossbow being loaded just out of sight]**

...or I could resolve it right now, which is, of course, what I'm going to do! Eheheheheh.

* * *

><p><em>The blinds are open, sunlight streaming into the room- and into my eyes. At home, I'd be stomping over to the window, shutting them forcefully, and burrowing back under the bedclothes.<em>

_But, I reflect, leaning back against my fiance's chest, I'm not at home._

_Steady pulse rate and breath, my makeshift pillow rising and falling slowly. Over the years, I've learned that he's a heavy sleeper. Or rather, _year_- to my irritation, he insisted on waiting until I was 18. The memory of the conversation makes me smile slightly._

"**Lucas, half of my hobbies aren't legal. The other half only are because nobody else has thought of them yet. So if you think-"**

_He won, unfortunately, but I've done my best to make up for lost time._

_Shifting out of the sunbeam, I idly trace the white, slightly raised lines on Lucas' skin. My right foot touches cold steel tangled in the blankets, reminding me how they got there._

"_Every time I think you've reached your limits," I whisper, gently pressing a kiss to the scar closest to his heart. It's true- if the man has a pain threshold, I don't seem to have found it yet. I'm not easily impressed, but somehow the gangly young man beside me has managed the impossible._

_My lips move slowly up his throat (pausing at a purple-bruised bite mark) to the shell of his ear._

"_How do you do it?"_

_He shifts slightly, eyes half-opening. "Do what, Di?"_

"_Keep surprising me," I reply._

_Lucas, clearly in no mood for conversation, leans up and absently kisses my cheek. Then he makes a vague, noncommital sound, wraps himself tightly in the navy quilt, and closes his eyes. Within minutes, the rhythm of his breathing tells me that he's asleep again._

_I roll my eyes. Men._

_With one last look at my unconscious lover, I sit up. It's no use trying to follow his example; 11 years of increasingly underhanded sibling rivalry have made me incapable of sleeping much past dawn. _

_Max, the idiot who shares the apartment, is out for the weekend, but I'd still rather not wander around naked. I glance around the room; my tights are draped over a battered desk chair, and a wad of black cloth on the floor might be underwear. But nothing big enough to cover me is within arm's reach._

Note to self: Put robe on nighstand **before **getting into throes of desperate, passionate, violent lovemaking.

_I sigh, wrap the sheet around myself, and get up, careful not to wake the tangle of blankets and tousled hair beside me. Mercifully, my suitcase ended up only a few steps from the bed, and I somehow had the foresight to pack my bathrobe on top. Shrugging it on and knotting the belt, I start to head for the door- only to have my foot collide with a white, cardboard box._

_The previous day's disaster comes flooding back. The nauseatingly pink house, the throng of pastel-clad Beinekes, the pile of gifts still sitting in the trunk of Lucas' Civic._

_And the one good part: this box and its contents. I pick up the note sitting on top and open it._

_**Dear Wednesday,**_

_**I was going to write a poem, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea. Instead, I'll get to the point. Like any mother, I've thought about Lucas' wedding for years. Who would be invited, the venue, the food, the music- and, of course, the bride. I expected him to marry one of the nice girls he met in high school or college; you know, polite, fairly intelligent, moderately witty, and generically attractive. For some reason, I thought her name would probably be Jennifer.**_

_**I never expected you, and I'm so happy to have been proven wrong. Yes, I had my doubts at first, but the two of you are perfect for each other. And even though we don't agree on everything, I will be proud to have you as a daughter-in-law. Take care of my son, but don't ever underestimate him; he'll fit right in with your family, trust me.**_

_**About the gift: I've been making this since Lucas was a baby, planning all along to give it to his future wife. Your mother was nice enough to provide some photos, but it was my idea, so don't be angry at her. I wish there were more of you two together, but I guess that's life. I hope you like it.**_

_**Love,**_

_**Alice.**_

_I open the box and take out a large, leather-bound scrapbook. "Lucas and Wednesday," reads the card slipped into a laminated title slot, "October 31, 2012." Carefully, I flip through the pages I examined in detail at the party yesterday._

A baby boy, red face crumpled in a wail at the camera. Ink writing accompanying the photo says, "Lucas Matthew Beineke. March 12, 1990. Born at 4:00 AM, Martin George Hospital, Willard, Ohio."

Another newborn, a girl, regarding the viewer with solemn brown eyes. "Wednesday Friday Addams. February 3, 1992. Born at 1:00 AM, Bellevue Hospital Center, New York City."

_After these two pages, the setup diverges slightly. But the book still chronicles two lives in parallel photographs._

A toddler grinning proudly next to a snowman taller than he is, his father looking on in the background.

A five-year-old smiling just as broadly (but with a slightly maniacal gleam in her eye) as she shows off a beheaded porcelain doll.

Two boys standing by a lake in the summer, the taller, blond child making rabbit ears behind the other's head.

An adolescent girl with long braids, standing in front of a mausoleum in a black velvet dress, a crossbow in one hand and the corpse of a chihuahua in the other.

A teenage boy in a toga and heavy stage makeup, flanked by a red-haired woman who looks overjoyed and a tall man who does not.

_The next-to-last page bears only one photo, and I feel a twinge of pity for Alice. This can't have been easy to find; I didn't even know about it._

A young man and woman, facing each other. She has one hand on his cheek, and he appears to be stroking her short, black hair. They're clearly unaware of the camera, gazing into each other's eyes as if nothing else existed. The caption, handwritten in careful calligraphy, says "Amor Vincit Omnia."

"_What are you reading?"_

_I turn back to Lucas, who's now sitting up in bed. With a smirk, I hold up the scrapbook. He groans and falls back against the pillows._

"_Amor vincit omnia," I call over my shoulder as I walk down the hall towards the kitchen. A gift that was actually well-thought-out _and_ drives my beloved crazy. I'll have to remember to thank Alice._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I hope that wasn't too anticlimactic. And yes, I did say that the box was small in the last chapter; it was a typo and I'm going to fix it.

"Amor Vincit Omnia" is a popular Latin motto that means "Love conquers all." Also, can we agree as a fandom that WxL fluff is ludicrously fun to write? :3


	11. In Which The Cake Is Not A Lie

**A/N:** Never thought I'd say this, but winter break can be over now. Seriously. (Granted, I'll probably rescind that statement in a few weeks.) At any rate, here be the chapter!

* * *

><p>"Pugsley, sit in the chair."<p>

"Why?"

"Let me tell you something very important, for when you're older. If a woman has been involuntarily trying on wedding dresses all day, with her mother rejecting everything she likes in favor of what basically amounts to said mother's everyday clothing, and the woman finally storms away to do something less likely to induce an aneurysm, and she tells you to sit in the chair, you _sit in the chair_."

I raised the rapier, its tip quivering inches from my brother's nose. "Got it?"

Swallowing hard, he edged away and slowly lowered himself into the wicker chair. I turned back to the row of cake slivers on my desk. On days like today, that lazy morning in Lucas' apartment after the bridal shower felt far longer than a month ago. A glance at the window only made things worse; a thick layer of clouds hung in the sky and a chill wind whipped the trees into a frenzy. It was really too perfect a day to waste on wedding planning- and yet, here I was.

A slight gasp from my victim/helper brought my attention back to the present. "Wait...cake?" Pugsley asked, eyeing the moldering pastry eagerly.

I nodded. "You're helping me taste-test."

His smile widened- then dimmed slightly with suspicion.

"But you said 'torture,' and not the fun kind. So what-"

As if in answer to his question, the door creaked open slightly. A small, rosy face appeared in the crack.

"Come in, Pubert," I said tonelessly, without looking up. Pugsley's eyes widened, and he shot me a look of betrayal.

"What do we need him for?"

The six-year-old, still hanging onto the doorknob, glanced nervously at our brother. "Cake-tasting, right?"

I nodded. Pugsley's hurt expression changed to one of confusion; by way of a response, I gestured to the glistening, white-iced samples arranged on my dressing-table.

"For the Beinekes. Oddly enough, Lucas says they don't like nightshade."

My youngest brother edged into the room, creaking across the floorboards to stand (relatively) near Pugsley. For a moment, by some trick of the light, I could imagine a shadow on his upper lip. If I ignored the Ninja Turtles t-shirt, seeing them together was almost like seeing a parallel universe.

_Where he never left._

But the next words out of his mouth shattered the illusion. "Do I hafta eat the weird stuff?"

I thrust a fork into his hand and shoved him toward the more innocuous-looking cake. "No. Get busy."

As Pugsley began stuffing his face and Pubert took a wary bite of a German chocolate slice, I turned to the pile of invitations on my bed. Dozens of yellow parchment cards, each waiting for me to write (_calligraph? Is that even a word?_) the agreed-upon inscription. I glanced at the scrap of paper in my hand.

_The Addams and Beineke families_

_request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their children,_

_Wednesday Friday Addams_

_and_

_Lucas Matthew Beineke,_

_on October 31, 2011_

_at the Addams manor in Central Park, New York City._

_Ceremony begins at 11:30 PM;_

_Reception to follow._

_(Tetanus and rabies vaccinations recommended)_

That last line would probably raise some Beineke eyebrows, but Mother and Father had insisted on giving them fair warning. And the choice between odd invitations and an ambulance-free wedding was no contest.

Although, I'd never seen a case of rabies in person...

My pen hovered over the line in question, ready to mark through it- when something poked me sharply in the side. I looked up to see Thing perched beside me on the comforter, his fingers quirked at a reproachful angle. A frustrated groan escaped me; somehow he'd become Mother's partner-in-crime in all this, and I couldn't hope to get away with invitation sabotage while he was in the room. Who'd have thought a disembodied hand would get so interested in wedding planning?

With a sigh, I picked up the first card and began to write.

* * *

><p>"Paloma, I can't understand a word you say when you get hysterical like this!"<p>

I took a deep breath and tried to keep the panic from my voice, but my nails dug still deeper into the wood of the banister.

"I have been in wedding mode all morning. My hand is numb. Mother wants me to get married dressed like a smaller version of her. And there is regurgitated cream cheese frosting all over the floor of my room. You're surprised that I'm hysterical?"

Father blinked up at me. "Cream cheese frosting? But who in this house would eat something so nauseating?"

I released the banister and fell back against the staircase wall. The world was remarkably easier to deal with if my eyes were closed. In fact, this was looking like a better and better way to spend the next few months.

Finally, I replied, "Pugsley, it turns out, if you taunt him enough."

With surprising speed for a man of his girth, Father raced up the stairs. He ran past me, silk dressing-gown flapping, and I could do nothing but follow as quickly as possible. Any attempt to speak on my part was ignored as he ran down the hall towards my room.

"Father, please...if you'll just...let me explain...Pubert-"

A shout cut me off as he flung open the door. Pugsley, still looking a bit green, loomed over our younger brother. The nozzle of a flamethrower- _which I didn't give him permission to borrow; we'd have to have a talk later_- was inches from Pubert's tear-streaked face. Its wielder's expression would have made Godzilla cringe.

"Cough it up, you worm!" the eleven-year-old yelled, fingering the trigger menacingly. "That was **mine**!"

Father strode into the room and grabbed Pugsley's arm. "Son, what is the meaning of this?" Pugsley glanced at him, but kept the flamethrower in position.

"He ate the last piece of the cake with mercury frosting!"

As if realizing what he just said, my brother slowly straightened up, eyes widening. Pubert scrambled to his feet and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his bright red t-shirt.

"I j-just wanted to see..." he trailed off with a few more hiccupping sobs. The innocent brown eyes flickered from Pugsley to Father- and finally settled on me. As he staggered towards the door, I fought the urge to back away. Whatever a wholesome, red-blooded, all-American boy like this wanted with me, it couldn't be good. But his next words made my jaw drop.

"It smelled good. And the other cake was expired or something; none of it tasted right. And I was **allowed** to try it, right, Wednesday? Right?"

_There is no way._

Trying to hide my surprise, I stared down at the child in front of me. Baseball cap, jeans, muscle-bound turtles grinning from the front of his shirt, miniature Converse...my estranged younger brother, through and through. And yet...

"Pubert," I said, "did you eat one of the cake samples I left out for Pugsley?"

He scuffed one toe along the floor. "Yes."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

I glanced at Father, whose face had gone an interesting ashy color. "Do you feel sick?"

"No," came the guilty reply. Pubert looked up at me with what was clearly his best attempt at puppy eyes. "The other stuff kind of made my tummy hurt, so I dared Pugsley to try some-"

Slight comprehension dawned in Father's eyes.

"-and when **he** got sick, I thought it must be bad. And...the other cake smelled good!" he repeated, stamping one foot to emphasize the point.

There was no way he could be telling the truth. The cake in question had been my personal first choice, laced with enough mercury to fill several thermometers- and probably kill a normal person in thirty seconds flat (probably, because I really had no frame of reference). If Pubert had eaten even a bite of it, he'd be writhing on the floor now.

_Unless..._ But no. Nothing like that was possible. I pushed the thought from my head.

And, just in case this day was still going well in any capacity, the sun chose that moment to break through the clouds, flooding my room. I stalked over to the window, grabbing the cord to pull the shades down- but Father raised a hand to stop me.

"Hold a moment, Wednesday. Pubert, come here."

As the still-shivering boy cautiously approached our father, I realized what he'd seen. My eyes must have widened, because Pugsley told me later that I looked like I'd seen a Barbie doll. But at the time, I only noticed one thing.

It hadn't been a trick of the light earlier. Faint but definitely there, a line of dark hair shadowed Pubert's upper lip.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Apologies to all the Pubert-haters out there. I'm not fond of him either, but the little guy deserved at least a shot at redemption. And keep in mind that the story's not over yet. ;)

EDIT: Thanks to **Gleefully Wicked** for pointing out a small bit of OOC dialogue. ^^"


	12. In Which The Wedding Party Is Assembled

**A/N:** Look! I'm updating like a responsible adult who honors her commitments! ^^"

No other relevant/interesting news. Enjoy, and I still don't own anything.

* * *

><p>"Look, Jon, this means a lot to me. Please?"<p>

Jonathan Sedge shot his erstwhile roommate an incredulous glance over the soy sauce.

"Lucas," he said, gesturing dismissively with his chopsticks, "You know I'm happy to be your best man. But when you tell me you're getting married on Halloween, in a cemetery, _at midnight_- what is this chick, a vampire?"

Lucas swallowed a bite of sweet-and-sour pork and groaned. "Come on, you met Wednesday! I thought you two got along fine!"

"She said 'Hello' and then stared at me until I left," Jon replied. "There was barely any getting along, good or bad.

After taking a sip of his drink, he ran a hand through his spiky blond hair and continued, "And it seems like she's running the show here. You're acting totally whipped, man!"

The young poet opened his mouth to leap to his beloved's defense- and promptly shut it again. Because, try as he might to ignore it, what Jon had said was true. He hadn't tried to take an active part in the wedding preparations- in fact, to date he'd barely given input beyond absently nodding consent. Supposedly he had veto rights, or so Wednesday had told him on multiple occasions, but he'd never really given it much thought. At the beginning of the process, Mal had taken him aside and attempted to impart fatherly wisdom.

"Son," the contractor had said, "the thing about weddings is, they drive women temporarily insane." A thoughtful pause. "Or _more_ insane, in this case. But my point is that a woman spends a lot of time planning her wedding before you even enter the picture. So she won't take kindly to you butting in. It's her day. Take my advice and let her do whatever she wants with it."

But the more Lucas thought about it, the more preposterous the idea of his fiancée having childhood wedding dreams sounded. Funeral dreams, maybe, but-

He became dimly aware that Jon was talking again.

"…sorry, but that's just how it looks from here." The other man sat back in his chair, regarding Lucas with a slightly anxious look. Lucas took another sip of his drink and considered how to respond.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Yeah, I get that. I guess it's just- I didn't want to make it more stressful for her, you know? This isn't exactly her thing."

Jon snorted, earning a glare from his dining companion, who continued, "But you're probably right that I should be more involved, okay? I'll talk to her about it tonight."

"Hey," the blond replied, shrugging, "It was just my opinion."

They sat in silence for a moment, picking at the greasy remnants of their dinner. The check came and was dealt with, and they were putting on their coats when Jon spoke again.

"And, hey, Lucas? I'll do it."

* * *

><p>Deep in the bowels of the city, a battle raged. It was the timeless struggle between good and evil, a war to decide the fate of humanity. The masked crusader valiantly weathered blow after blow from a giant, white-cloaked figure, all the while mustering his strength for a final, death-or-glory attack. As he held his fiery javelin poised to strike…the phone rang.<p>

Groaning, a tall, olive-skinned young woman pushed her chair away from the drawing board and picked up the receiver.

"Consuela Santiago. Yes? Yes! Oh my god, it's been ages! How are you?"

She leaned back and propped her feet against the table, careful not to smudge the half-finished comic page. As a voice chattered on the other end, Consuela smiled.

"Engaged? Wow, that's- no, of course I'm not surprised. Well, maybe a little bit." A note of excitement crept into her voice. "Is it Joel? We all thought- okay, okay, calm down! It was an honest mistake."

Idly twisting a dark curl around one finger, she sighed. "Six years. It still feels like yesterday. I've never had that much fun, before or since. Although, what I did to the bullies at school the next year was pretty satisfying."

More muffled speech from the other end of the line. The young artist sat up straight, scooted the chair over to a cluttered desk, and began thumbing through a datebook.

"Yeah, I'm still in the city. I'm in graphic novels, actually, working for this company called Gravitas. No, you wouldn't have heard of it; it's pretty new. Heatstroke? Ring a bell?" She finally seemed to find the right page in the book, one relatively free of inked scrawls.

"It looks like I'm free on Halloween. What's going on?"

A moment later, she clapped a hand to her mouth, smiling still more broadly. "Your bridesmaid? Oh, Wednesday, this is- sure, yes, I'd love to! Thank you so much! What? No, that's not a problem; let me pencil it in."

She groped around in the mounts of papers and Post-It notes before finally locating a pen. As she scribbled in the datebook, she muttered to herself, "Dress…fittings…5….PM…"

Her attention returned to the phone. "Okay, got it. I'll see you on Monday, then? Great. Yeah, you too. Bye."

Consuela hung up, stretched briefly, and pushed the chair back towards the drawing table. After glancing down at the page before her, she chuckled softly and began replacing the superhero's javelin with a bow and flaming arrow.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Consuela, in case you were wondering, is not an OC. She appears briefly in "Addams Family Values" as one of the other not-so-cheery Chippewas who is cast as an Indian in the pageant. I think you can also see her pie-ing someone in the face during the actual pageant scene. For Jon, though, I take full responsibility.


	13. In Which The Day Arrives

**A/N: **And so it begins, mesdames et messieurs. It's going to be a bumpy ride…

(Sorry for the delay in updates; Real Life happened for a while. ^^")

* * *

><p>My wedding day got off to a surprisingly promising start. All things considered, I could hardly have asked for better. The clear day, normally a curse, was actually a blessing- it would mean a clear night for the ceremony. And for once, I seemed to be the first one up; the house was unusually silent. Things were starting out well.<p>

And then I got out of bed.

My feet had barely touched the floor when the door slammed open and I was accosted by a six-year-old in a tuxedo.

"You're up!"

"And you're in my room at-" I glanced at the cobwebbed cuckoo clock on the wall- "seven AM. Without being invited."

Pubert scuffed one toe against the floor, but didn't sound the least bit contrite. "Aunt- Moth- _Morticia_ said not to wake you up. But you're up now, right?"

"Pubert," I replied, "I'm standing, with my eyes open, and talking to you. What do you think?" Without waiting for a reply, I continued, "And why are you wearing that?"

He grinned broadly, raising his arms in a flourish that was all Father. "How do I look?"

I groaned and shuffled over to the dressing-table. "Fine, but the wedding's not 'till midnight. So unless you plan on wearing that all day…"

"I can't?" Even without turning around, I could practically hear his face fall. Good grief. Glad as I was to have my youngest brother (mostly) back, he could still be an annoying little vermin at times.

"Do what you want. But get out of my room and go pester somebody else."

Of course, it couldn't be that simple. Not on the one day I needed him to actually listen to me. Instead of leaving, Pubert shuffled closer until his head was resting gently against the splintering ebony of the table. This close, I could see the little mustache that had grown unmistakable over the last month. I smirked in spite of myself; Aunt Muriel was going to have a fit.

_**More**__ of a fit, _I mentally corrected, pulling the brush through my hair. The scene when Pubert had refused to go home with our aunt and uncle until the wedding had been priceless; Pugsley and I were still in a minor feud because neither of us had thought to film it. Muriel's shrieks could be heard from the attic.

"Wednesday?"

I paused in my brushing to meet the large, brown eyes that stared up at me. "Yes?"

"Are you gonna move away with Lucas?" my brother asked.

"Yes," I replied. "Why?"

One spit-shined black dress shoe traced along the floor. "Dunno. I just thought maybe you'd live here still."

"Pubert, married couples live together." I turned back to the cracked mirror, trying to decide whether the circles under my eyes were dark enough to keep Mother from having a fit.

"Why can't you and Lucas stay here? There's lots of room."

_Maybe if I just take some eyeshadow- wait a minute._ My train of thought interrupted, I glanced sharply back at the little boy.

"Why don't you want me to leave?" I asked slowly. If this was Pugsley all over again…

When he abruptly threw himself against my knees in a tight hug, all hope was lost. Great. Just great. Finally, I reached down to lay one hand awkwardly on his back.

"Pubert- Pubert, let _go_. It's alright. I'll visit; Pugsley already made me promise- okay, yes, I love you, too, now _let. Go._" Annoyance reached its peak, and the last two words came out a bit more threatening than I'd intended. But only a bit- sisterly affection was not my forte. Fortunately, he listened this time.

"Promise?" he asked, looking more cheerful than any Addams had the right to. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, I promise. Would a little peace and quiet be too much to ask for?"

He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a smooth voice from the doorway. "Pubert, darling, let your sister get dressed. Your father and Pugsley are setting up in the cemetery, if you'd like to go help them."

As he scampered from the room, Mother glided in looking perfect, as usual. I wondered for the thousandth time if she just woke up like that, with not a hair out of place and makeup expertly applied.

Her crimson lips curved up in a smile. "Good morning, my pet. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," I replied, turning slightly on my stool to face her. As I'd expected, her expression became somewhat less composed.

"Well, one can't have everything."

Then, shock of shocks- my mother fell silent. Sitting down on the bed (and raising a large cloud of dust in the process), she regarded me quietly for a few minutes. I stared back at her, slightly puzzled by the uncharacteristic lack of comments and criticisms. Finally, she gave a sniff and my heart sank.

_Here we go._

Mother pulled a black, lace-edged handkerchief from her bodice and dabbed at her eyes. "I'm sorry, darling, it's just...you've grown up so fast."

Had somebody declared this Be Sickeningly Heartwarming Day? I rolled my eyes and resumed brushing my hair. If Mother seemed upset now, things would be worse if I looked less than perfect for the wedding. But when I was suddenly pulled from behind into an embrace, it became apparent that waiting out her sentimental spell wouldn't be an option.

"Mother," I began, but she cut me off.

"I know. The last thing you need today is for me to get misty-eyed. But I can't help it." She sighed and pressed a kiss to my head, stroking a few strands of hair off my face. I glanced at her in the mirror.

"I...I know. Sometimes…" I sighed. "Sometimes it does feel like life's moving a bit fast." There were _not_ tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. It was just a reaction to the smoke bomb Pugsley'd set off in here last night.

Mother smiled in the mirror and drew back slightly. "But you're marrying the man of your dreams, and I know the two of you will be blissfully miserable together."

In spite of myself, the corners of my lips twitched upwards. "Yes, I'm sure we will."

After another moment's silence, she patted my hand and her expression grew businesslike. She took the brush from me and set it back down on the dressing-table; taking my chin in her hands, she began to scrutinize my face.

"Yes, I can tell you've been getting too much sleep. Couldn't you have waited until dawn to go to bed, dear? Well, we can probably do something about that with makeup. And just how long did you stay out in the sun yesterday? You're positively blushing! Why…"

As the tirade continued, I began tuning her out. At least there was one thing today I wouldn't have to worry about: Mother had taken me in hand, and nothing short of a volcanic eruption could stop her now. I took a moment to thank the agents of chaos that the dress had already been selected; she knew I wouldn't accept any last-minute substitutions. For the first time since I'd awakened, I actually began to relax.

A moment later, though, the door burst open. A tide of chattering female relatives swept in, a seamless wave of black, white, and burgundy, clutching handbags, the usual assortment of weapons, and what appeared to be- I shivered involuntarily- makeup boxes.

Mother beamed. "Ah, ladies! Always prompt."

"Mother," I ground out, "what the hell is going on?"

"Oh," she said in a deceptively light tone, "you know it's traditional for the bride's family to help her prepare for her wedding. Who are we to defy tradition?"

Just as I thought things couldn't get any worse, Pugsley appeared in the doorway looking like he'd been through a tsunami. He leaned against the door frame, struggling to catch his breath. Finally, he managed to speak.

"Aunt...Ophelia...Father….broken ankle. She was trying to…practice…her judo."

_Of all days for Murphy's Law to prevail._ It would be a miracle if I survived until midnight.


	14. In Which Mucus Almost Ruins A Wedding

**A/N:** Wow. Um…better late than never? Eheheheh. ^^"

"I'm sorry, _paloma_; it's just no use."

Even if Father hadn't looked so pitiful, with his injured leg propped on a stool and an expression like a kicked puppy, I'd have believed him. The ankle was bent at an angle beyond anything humans were able to achieve- and I would know, having done things to Pugsley that resulted in similar breaks.

"It's fine," I said, starting to pinch the bridge of my nose in exasperation. Mother leaned down and gently pushed my hand away.

"Your makeup, darling," she reminded me.

Of course. At a moment like this, when Father's dream of walking me down the aisle had come crashing down, she would be thinking of makeup. The past two hours had been hellish; preparing for my wedding had been something that happened to me rather than something I did on my own. But the crowd of relatives, friends, and what I suspected to be random street lunatics had disappeared at last. Sitting in the chair before my dressing-table, I still felt a bit like I'd been through a hurricane.

Admittedly, though, they had done a good job. I glanced towards the mirror again- only to be brought back to reality by an unearthly scream.

The overstuffed chair by the fireplace was empty. Halfway across the floor stood Father, with a look of intense pain on his face.

He caught my eye and managed a shaky smile. "See? All better. A miraculous healing, just so I can-" A sickening crack from his ankle resulted in another ear-shattering shriek.

"Mon cher!" Mother chided. She bustled- or would have if she was capable of bustling, which I doubted- over to him and began guiding him back to the chair.

"No!" he protested. "I am perfectly fine, do you hear? Fine! See, I can walk as well as-" Crack. Scream.

"Father." I stood and walked over to him, the silk of my gown rustling. "That's an impressive break and I'm sure it hurts wonderfully, but you can't be screaming during the processional."

Both parents gave me bewildered looks. I sighed. Just once, can't they figure these things out for themselves?

"Look, I'd understand. Mother and Pugsley and Uncle Fester and the rest of our family would understand. The Beinekes, not so much. And this is Lucas' wedding, too, not just mine."

He touched my arm, mouth open to protest, but I could see I was getting to him. "And…" There had to be a more convincing argument, but my mind seemed to have reached its limit. I stood there for a few seconds, casting around for something. Finally, Mother interjected.

"Think of how upset Lurch will be, after he worked all week on learning that organ piece. It would break his heart."

A moment passed, tense and feeling like one of the longest of my life. At last, though, Father heaved a sigh and resumed his slow progress towards the chair.

"You're right, as usual," he said dejectedly. "I'd only ruin the flow of things." Collapsing onto the cushions in a cloud of dust, he buried his head in his hands.

Perfect; one parent was micro-managing everything and the other was having a meltdown. I wandered over to the window and leaned against the sill, glancing out at the night sky.

"Could this get any worse?" I muttered- and immediately regretted it. The last thing anyone needed was for something else to go wrong. True, the rain of fire and/or apocalyptic nuclear war Pugsley had joked about had failed to materialize, but still…

Remembering that conversation, I rolled my eyes. The brat's comments might have been annoying, but they touched a nerve all the same. He was right; neither of us ever thought this day would come. To me, weddings happened only to the perky blonde girls I'd come to loathe at school. They cooed over dress designs and scribbled "Mrs. [Crush's Name]" on their notebooks, every i dotted with a heart. And every weekend, they went to the movies with various boyfriends while I stayed home and committed acts of violence against my brother.

It might have continued that way forever, if fate hadn't intervened.

As if on cue, the black iPhone sitting on the windowsill vibrated. I picked it up, sliding my thumb across the lock, and read the waiting text message.

**We're here. –Lucas**

"Mother, the Beinekes are here," I said without looking up from the screen.

No reply.

"Mother?"

"She's out in the hall with your brother," Father replied.

"Pugsley? What's-"

It was then I heard the sound of what can only be described as an atomic sneeze. A bout of truly impressive coughing followed it, almost drowning out Mother's voice.

"…alright, dear, just go and ask him for the antidote."

Bracing myself for the worst, I crossed to the door and looked out, only to have Mother push me back inside. But not before I caught a glimpse of Pugsley.

His face was bright red and his head swollen to twice its normal size. His nose wasn't just running, but dripping enough to have made a puddle on the floor. And the hacking cough now coming from his throat sounded like that of someone in the late stages of tuberculosis.

I slipped under Mother's arm and approached my transformed ringbearer. "Pugsley, what happened to you?"

"Pubert," he said between sniffs. "He was messing with my chemistry set. When I told him to get out of my room, he threw some powder in my face and ran off. And then…" He trailed off, but the rest was obvious.

Mother grabbed me again. "We still don't know if it's contagious, so stay in your room until I get him out of here."

And then she was gone, hurrying Pugsley down the hall, presumably to get him out of the sodden tuxedo and into bed. I walked back to the window, trying to take deep breaths.

_First Father's ankle and now we have no ringbearer._ It seemed the universe was answering my rhetorical question.

**Pubert somehow gave Pugsley some kind of Death Cold. Aunt Ophelia broke Father's ankle. That's two members of the wedding party out of commission; care to tell me how we're going to make this work? –W**

I hit send; once the whooshing noise let me know the text was on its way, I put the phone down and collapsed into my chair once again. Father glanced at me over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he said quietly.

"It's…it'll be fine," I replied.

After a moment, I continued, "After all, I never even thought I'd get married." To my surprise, this elicited a chuckle from the easy chair.

"And I never doubted it. I knew there had to be a very lucky man somewhere who would be good enough for you."

It was my turn to give a wry laugh. "Or insane enough."

"The best people often are," Father conceded, "but you mustn't speak of yourself so, pigeon." With a little sigh, he settled his girth more comfortably into the chair.

"Come," he said suddenly. "Let me look at you."

My phone vibrated, and I ignored it- an event without precedent when I was texting Lucas. But Father had been the first man in my life; my fiancé could wait for a minute. I stood and went to stand beside his chair.

He stared at me for a few seconds, and his eyes began to glisten strangely. "My _paloma_. Where did the years go?"

Oh no. Not this again. For some reason, it was a twice as bad from him as from Mother.

Father took my hand in his; I tried to ignore the slight prickling at the corners of my own eyes. If before it had been embarrassing, now it would have been suicide to ruin my makeup. Mother would have my head on a pike.

And what he said next, in a strangely thick voice, just made it worse. "Next to your mother, you are the loveliest bride I've ever seen."

_Don't blink,_ I told myself. _Blink and you're dead._ Because if I blinked, the tears would fall. "Thank you."

"_Te amo, Miercolecita_" he said, leaning up to press a kiss to my cheek. Not blinking suddenly became even more difficult.

"_Te amo, Papá._"

Another loud buzzing noise from the windowsill broke the moment. Squeezing his hand one more time, I hurried over to the phone and unlocked it.

**Calm down. I just got my cousin Josh to do it. He was the ringbearer at his older brother's wedding a month ago, so he knows what to do. –Lucas**

My sigh of relief was cut off by another incoming text.

**But I kind of had to give him $5 and promise he could try out your trebuchet. Sorry, it was the only way. –Lucas**

Taking a deep breath, I counted to ten and tried to stop myself from slamming the blasted thing into the floor. Did he have any idea how long it had taken me to get that trebuchet to work properly? Did he know that I'd spent an entire summer building it using only centuries-old plans drawn by a French warlord ancestor?

_Yes,_ an inconvenient voice in my mind reminded me. _You spent four hours ranting at him about it last week._ Still, he had just solved the ringbearer problem.

**Fine. Thanks. –W**

Maybe everything would be alright after all.

- -ONE HOUR LATER-

**That's it. We're going to just run off to New Orleans or something. –W**

**Wednesday, please. We can't. You have no idea how many people are out here. –Lucas**

**I don't care! This is ridiculous! –W**

**Besides, name ONE thing that's gone according to plan. –W**

With a growl of frustration, I tossed the phone onto my bed. He was being a hidebound idiot and I didn't have the patience for it right now. Not with the entire wedding blowing up in my face.

Upon learning that Pugsley would not be participating, the flower girl had promptly dropped out as well. A few years younger than my brother, the little girl had proven to be as self-centered as she was pretty. The only reason she'd even agreed in the first place had been a burning crush on him; I learned this after several minutes of threatening her favorite Barbie with an acetylene torch.

If kids these days couldn't even withstand toy torture, woe betide future generations.

A cousin I'd never previously met had stepped in, but by then I'd had it. This entire wedding business could go to hell.

The irritating buzzing noise sounded once again. Grumbling, I picked up the phone.

**We're here, we're together, and we're about to get married. That's the only plan I care about.** **–Lucas**

My fingers flew across the touch-screen, formulating a reply…and then stopped as I noticed a tall, slender black figure in the doorway.

"Are you ready, my pet?" Mother asked.

One look at her, and I knew I had to go through with it. Even after the past few years of rebelling, of being driven crazy by every little annoying habit, the greatest lesson of my childhood still held true. Family first and family last.

And right now, my family was expecting a wedding.

_Things could be worse_, I thought grudgingly as I slowly typed a response to Lucas.

**Be there soon. –W**

Mother led me over to the full-length mirror; for perhaps the first time today, her enthusiasm didn't irritate me. I was, after all, her only daughter. She might as well have her fun the only chance she'd ever get.

She hovered around me as I looked at myself in the cracked and slightly dirty glass, making tiny adjustments here and there. Once again, I had to give her some credit. The dress had been entirely my decision- a floor-sweeping gown of black silk, with black lace sleeves- but she'd selected the jewelry. The old locket that had been her engagement gift and matching earrings. And of course, my much-fussed-over makeup was perfect.

Finally, Mother checked the ruby-studded comb holding my veil in place and handed me the bouquet of thorns that had been sitting on my nightstand. "Well, love, it's time."

I took a deep breath and followed her out the door.

**A/N: **Hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for its lateness. If any of the Spanish is mistranslated, please let me know ("Miercolecita" was what I figured the diminutive form of "Miercoles" would be; if it has some other meaning, I'll change it). And I suppose that's it for now. I'll try to start updating more often.


	15. Which Is A Beginning

**A/N: **Yes, this is a very productive use of my oceanography class. If the professor refuses to actually teach, it's his own fault that I don't pay attention.

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><p>The cemetery was packed, just as Lucas' text had said. On the left, a whispering, shifting crowd in dark and muted colors, craning their necks to look at me. On the right, a predictably sparse group of Beinekes who seemed ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Only Alice, in her usual bright yellow, looked comfortable.<p>

To the strains of an organ piece I didn't recognize, my bridesmaids started down the aisle. Consuela grinned at me as she passed. My cousin Bella, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to hide behind her long blonde hair. Aunt Ophelia had never told us her father's identity, but I'd always suspected Cousin Itt.

Next came the flower girl. I didn't know the seven-year-old hunchback now scattering dead petals on the long, red carpet; her name was Hortense and Mother claimed we were related.

As the (admittedly cute) child made her way towards the monument that served as an altar, my lone stint as a flower girl flashed before my eyes. It had been a clear, full-moon night just like this. I could almost believe no time had passed.

Except this time, the wedding didn't mean certain death for my uncle. I wasn't 12 years old or silently fuming. And I was the bride.

_Oh my god. I'm getting married._

Not even months ago, when Lucas had broken our kiss, pulled out a velvet box, and said, "Will you marry me?" had it hit home the way it did now. For a moment, panic shot through me. What if this was wrong? How could I know at age 18 what I'd want for the rest of my life?

And then I let myself look towards the altar for the first time, and my doubts faded. Because he was there, looking at me like I was the only person in the world.

Lucas. My light. The only one I'd ever want.

As the first notes of the wedding march floated through the chill night air, I stepped forward onto the long, slightly mildewed carpet.

Walking down the aisle seemed to take forever. I passed mother and father, sitting in the front row with Pubert and a still-sniffling Pugsley. Father's eyes were already red even as he smiled at me; Mother remained composed, but the usual scrap of black lace was ready in her hand. Our eyes met for a moment, and I sensed that for once she wasn't concerned about being the center of attention.

Finally, I stood beside Lucas. He smiled, and I couldn't stop the corners of my mouth from rising in response.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. I started to reply, but the organ groaned out its last note and Cousin Itt, officiating as usual, began to speak.

"_Mrss frkl erk mrr…"_

"Dearly beloved," Margaret translated from her place next to him, "we are gathered here tonight to join these two people in marriage."

"_Ckl erk rss frl msrf."_

"Please bring forward the rings."

The ring bearer- unusually tall for an eleven-year-old, part of my mind absently noted –held out the black velvet pillow. At Cousin Itt's nod, I picked up the larger ring and turned to Lucas.

Somehow, the words managed to make it past the embarrassing lump in my throat. "I, Wednesday Friday Addams, take you, Lucas Matthew Beineke, to be my husband knowingly and of my own free will. To be my partner and companion in all things, good and bad, through life's wondrous chaos, as long as love shall last."

My hand was shaking. It shouldn't have been, but it was. Carefully I slipped the silver band onto his finger.

"Be this ring a token of our union. Love until death and thereafter."

We'd written the vows together, three weeks before. The more mainstream "in sickness and in health" spiel had been quickly vetoed, but that was the only part of the process that had been easy. In the end, though, both of us were satisfied. The last part was old, maybe as old as my family itself, but he'd insisted on keeping it.

Our hairy officiant turned to Lucas. Taking my hand, he lifted the other ring from the pillow.

"I, Lucas Matthew Beineke, take you, Wednesday Friday Addams, to be my wife, knowingly and of my own free will. To be my partner and companion in all things, good and bad- and just plain crazy." The aside got a surprisingly large laugh from the onlookers, and I couldn't bring myself to be angry at him for throwing it in.

But he quickly grew serious again. "Through all life's wondrous chaos, as long as love shall last. Be this ring a token of our union." The cool silver slid onto my finger and a prickling began at the corners of my eyes. "Love until death and thereafter."

Cousin Itt began to speak again and Margaret, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, translated.

"In the eyes of your families, your ancestors, and the higher powers of the universe, I pronounce you eternally wed. You may kiss."

I leaned towards him, eyes closed- and stopped inches away as my aunt hesitantly continued.

"And for god's sake, don't turn this into a five-minute makeout session like your parents did-" She stopped, mortified.

"_Mrgrtt, kss irk lfrl!"_

"Well, you said to translate everything you said!"

But for once, family dysfunction didn't matter. I just rolled my eyes and wrapped my arms around Lucas' neck. Stifling laughter, he took my face in his hands.

"Forever?"

"Forever."

And as our lips met, forever seemed like it couldn't be long enough.

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><p><strong>AN: **They're finally married. Certainly took long enough. Eheheheheh. *shifty eyes*

Oh look, a convenient distraction in the form of an epilogue!


	16. Epilogue

**A/N: **Two for the price of one today, because my next class isn't for three hours. And bored Eryn + notebook + sci-fi library = more chapters.

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><p><em>The first things I saw, drifting out of sleep, were your eyes. Tangled in the sheets beside me, you smiled.<em>

"_Good morning, Mrs. Addams-Beineke."_

"_Mmf." I moved closer and kissed you absently. "What time is it?_

_You propped yourself up on one elbow and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "4:05 PM," you replied._

_Most of the previous day was a blur- leaving the reception, catching flights from J.F.K. to Paris and from Paris to Prague. But last night was completely clear. I closed my eyes, remembering the feel of your body against mine, and your lips on my skin…_

_It wasn't the first time for either of us, of course. Not by a long shot. But somehow, our wedding night had still been special._

"_What's the plan for today?" I asked, stretching._

"_We take a bus to Kútna Hora and I keep you from staging a hostile takeover of the Sedlec Ossuary," you replied with a chuckle._

_After a moment of staring at the afternoon sunlight on the wall, I shifted to look at you. There would be time over the next two weeks for sight-seeing, and for you to make stupid jokes, and for me to hit you on the arm to hide my struggle not to laugh. Time to explore and see the world, but for a moment, I just wanted to see you. I took your hand almost unconsciously and my thumb brushed the silver ring on your third finger._

"_I love you," I whispered._

_You stroked my hair gently. "I love you too, Di."_

_And through the years, no matter what happened, that would always be the only thing that mattered._

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><p><strong>AN:** The end. Wow, I've finished three multi-chapter fics now. Maybe my attention span is improving.

If you don't know what the Sedlec Ossuary is…well, do a Google Image search. I promise you won't be disappointed.


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